


The Afflicted

by BRBelgarde



Series: Our Burdens [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Omega, F/F, M/M, Werewolves, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRBelgarde/pseuds/BRBelgarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being tainted with Greyback's blood, Draco Malfoy finds himself falling through the rabbit hole. The savior of the Wizarding World lives up to his name, and help comes to Draco in the form of unlikely familial ties. </p><p>Alpha/Omega dynamics (sort of), the addition of some original characters, and some interesting plot changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scratch

" _Justice is what Love looks like in public."_

_-Dr. Cornel West_

 

CHAPTER I

 

          It wasn’t the dark that made Draco uneasy. He usually felt safe, enveloped in a cocoon of darkness. It made him feel protected. Hidden. No, that wasn’t the aspect of the night that frightened him. It was the silence. The quiet. At night he was left alone with nothing but his thoughts. It was maddening.

 

          A few days after his sixteenth birthday, his father had come in the night and stood at the foot of his bed. He’d asked him to come with him, and down into the bowels of the mansion they went. Draco knew, somewhere in his heart, what was waiting for him. What happened next would be etched in Draco’s mind forever. He remembers shouting for his father as the man was pulled away, down another hallway. Draco was shoved down in a wooden chair, held down by Fenrir Greyback. When he struggled against his captor, the werewolf scratched him. A simple act that would change the course of Draco’s life forever. What came next would do the same. A paralysis spell was cast upon him, and when he awoke, he was branded. The Dark Mark stood starkly against the pale white of his skin. He stayed in the dungeon for two days, as the Lycanthropy rushed through his blood.

 

          When his mother finally came for him, she was frantic. Not about the mark. She had known. It was the scratch. The infection. She assured him he would not transform with the full moon. He was not a werewolf. He was now something called _afflicted_. He had been touched by the curse of Lycanthropy. During the full moon, he would experience a change in mood and behavior. What that was varied from victim to victim, and depended mainly on the circumstances surrounding the infection. His blood was no longer pure.

 

          On his first full moon, he became sorrowful and meek. He would not come out of his bedroom, not even for food, so his mother would bring him meals. He would take them from her and not meet her eyes, quickly shutting the door behind himself. His mother made it a point to tell him that during the full moon, he would always be like this. Submissive. Mild. He found he didn’t much care.

 

          Now, laying in his bed at Hogwarts, he felt the night wrap around him, and he stared out of the window across the dormitory. There, hanging high in the sky, was the moon. Tomorrow, it would be full, and he could already feel his affliction coming on. He’d been feeling it for weeks, proof that the moon had little sway now. His new change seemed to be permanent. And, like before, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He only felt two emotions now; fear and utter apathy. He was either completely frantic and terrified, or depressed and withdrawn. Not that anyone noticed. He felt utterly alone.

 

          He stood now, pulling a dark green jumper over his head. He could not lay there any longer. The fear was beginning to sink in. He needed to be somewhere other than here. The dungeons at Hogwarts often times felt too much like the bowels of Malfoy Manor, and it triggered something deep inside of him. He figured it was the size; small. The scent; dank and wet. Oppressive. He left the dormitory and made his way up, up, up. He settled at the top of the astronomy tower, a common area for restless students to go during the night. Draco figured it would be deserted now, at such an early hour. It was half past six in the morning when he left the dungeons. He settled near the edge, eyeing the drop down. It was dizzying, so he leaned back. For a few blissful moments, the wind and the view occupied his mind, and alone didn’t feel so solemn anymore. He was just getting used to it when he heard footsteps, and a muttered, “ _Shit.”_  
  
          Harry Potter. Draco turned his head and his shoulders. There stood Potter, still clad in his pajamas and what Draco could only surmise was a Weasley sweater; a baggy, heather-grey knit monstrosity with a large black ‘H’ on the front.

 

          “Good morning.” Draco said thinly to him. “I see you’ve finally caught up with me.” Ah, yes. The Potter Problem. Draco had been aware that his current unstable mood had caught the ‘saviors’ eye. And Draco knew Harry was onto him. It was his...apathy that kept him from running.  
  
          “Caught up?” Harry blinked, surprised Draco knew he was after him. Draco almost rolled his eyes.  
  
          “Don’t think I didn’t catch on as soon as you started trailing me. For three weeks, Potter, you’ve followed my every move. Every mood swing, every outburst, every missed class. You’ve noted them all. What are you hoping to find?” Draco turned back to face the edge of the tower, the opening like a huge, glassless window. He heard Potter walk closer.  
  
          “I know you have it. Show me.” There was something so authoritative and strong in the other man’s voice that made Draco’s blood sing. That made him want to obey. He felt the skin of his left arm itch under his jumper.  
  
          “If you know I have it, you don’t need to see it.” Draco countered. Potter came closer still.  
  
          “Do you have it?” He asked.  
  
          “Yes.” Draco’s voice was soft and light.  
  
          “You’re a Death Eater.”

 

          “No.”  
  
          Draco was hauled to his feet and made to face Potter, the taller boy grabbing him hard about his forearms. Draco felt fear and submission churn in his stomach and he turned his face away, exposing his neck.  
  
          “They made me.” Draco said, voice careful and slow. “They forced me. I’ll tell you. Everything. But they’ll kill me for it. My blood will be on your hands.”  
  
          “Tell me. We’ll deal with the rest later.” Authority. Strength. Draco’s blood practically hummed.  
  
          “Dumbledore,” he whispered, the name laced with fear, “They want me to kill Dumbledore. To find a way into the castle so they can get in unnoticed.” He blanched, all the color draining from his face.

 

          “Who else knows? Here in the castle, who else knows?” Potter’s eyes were frantically searching Draco’s face, trying to discern the truth. Draco wanted to recoil, but his body betrayed him.  
  
          “No one. I can’t confide in anyone. My Aunt knows. My mother and father...they know.” Draco muttered.  
  
          “Your cousin, does she know?” Potter asked, stepping back but keeping a tight hold on Draco’s forearms.

 

          Ah. Matilda. Black’s daughter. Funny, how Potter would think Draco would ever confide in her. They never got on, not when she grew up with Andromeda. His mother never spoke of that sister highly.

 

          “No. I don’t speak with her. I wouldn’t call her family. She gets on better with your friends, anyway.” Draco said. “Go on. Take me to Dumbledore. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? Take me to your leader, the man I’m meant to kill. Do you want to to tell him? Beg his forgiveness? Pray he shows me more mercy than _He_ did?”  
  
          Harry blinked dumbly, biting his lower lip. “It’s not going to happen the way you think it is, Malfoy. Dumbledore isn’t like that. He’ll know what to do; how to keep you safe. How to keep your family safe. I’m sure your parents won’t fare well if Voldemort knows you confessed.”

 

          Draco flinched violently has the name, pressing himself against Potter’s chest in an embarrassing display of weakness. “Don’t.” Draco whispered. “Not around me. Please.”

 

          Potter pushed him back, holding him at arm’s length. “Dumbledore’s office. Now.”

 

          Draco could do nothing but comply.


	2. A Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco adjusts to life at Grimmauld Place.

CHAPTER 2

 

Christmas holiday, Draco found himself waking up in a small room in a home that had been in his family for years. Number 12, Grimmauld place. He was sharing this room with his cousin, Matilda. It all felt surreal. Draco had always been curious about his cousin. They looked nothing alike, Matilda having dark features where his were light. 

 

The door to the room opened, and tore Draco from his thoughts. Matilda walked in, carrying a small tray of food. A cup of tea, toast and jam. She set it down on his bedside table. 

 

“Good morning,” her voice was hushed, “Some breakfast for you. I figured you weren’t up for sitting around the table with the rest of the Order just yet.”

 

Draco sat up, eyeing the food appreciatively. “Thank you.” He said softly, running a hand through his matted hair. While his was mostly straight, his cousins was curly, a massive mop on top of her head. He watched her sit on her own bed. 

 

“I know it will take some getting used to, being around people you never saw yourself relying on. It must be really jarring for you. Just know, most of us don’t hold any resentments. Those of us who do...just give them time. Let them get to know you. You can’t be all bad.” She said calmly, leaning back on her elbows. Draco scoffed.   
  
“You can’t possibly know that. I haven’t been nice to you. And you’re my blood.” He said, taking the tea cup in his hand and letting it warm him. Matilda smiled thinly. 

 

“You haven’t been explicitly cruel to me, either. We’ve never really interacted. I always wanted there to be some kind of relationship, even if it was strained. You’re really the only family I’ve got.” She said. Draco furrowed his brow. 

 

“Your father’s just downstairs-” He began, but Matilda bristled. 

“We don’t get on.” She said shortly, before standing and turning to fix her bed. “And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” 

 

“You think you’ll get on better with a Malfoy then you’re own father?” Draco took a sip of his tea. Matilda folded the comforter up over her pillows and sat back down, eyes raking over her cousin’s visage. 

 

“You’re a Black, too. You’ve got more Black genes in you than you know. You look more like your mother than your father. Except the hair. Aunt Andromeda always said so. She said you were a good child. And she always spoke highly of your mum.”

Draco felt a cold chill run down the back of his neck. He couldn’t say the same. His father would speak ill of Andromeda often. His mother never joined in, but she never corrected him. 

 

“I...thank you, Matilda.” Draco said, shifting uneasily. She smiled softly, noting her cousin’s discomfort. 

 

“Please. Call me Tilly. More familial.” She said, stretching. She stood and rummaged through her drawers, collecting clothes before walking into their en suite bathroom. It was small, with just a sink, a toilet, and a brass bathtub. The knick knacks Matilda had put in there gave it a very eclectic, homey feeling. He found it comforting. Everything at the manor had been orderly, sterile even. But here there was such a mix of different characters. Matilda had a love of kitsch, so her (now their) room was decorated with garish paintings and wall ornaments. 

 

Matilda emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later fully dressed. She put her pajamas in a small hamper and looked at Draco’s empty tray. 

“I can take that back down for you. But, no guarantee Harry won’t be up here soon. He was asking about you at breakfast.” She said, picking up the old tin tray. She offered him what he thought was another reassuring smiling, and with a mild struggle between the tray and the bedroom door, disappeared down the hallway. 

 

Draco sat in bed for a few more minutes, staring numbly at the wall, before he stood and went to his own chest of drawers, pulling out black trousers and white cotton shirt. He had just shed his pajama top when a cough sounded from the doorway. He turned to find Potter standing there, a nondescript look on his face. 

 

“Yes? Matilda said you’d come looking for me.” Draco said thinly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He watched Potter eye the Dark Mark closely, the first time the other boy had seen it. Potter walked over to him and grabbed his wrist, jerking the arm lightly so he could see the tattoo better. Draco did not put up a fight. 

 

“Did it hurt?” Potter asked. Draco felt bile rise in his throat. 

 

“Yes. They paralyzed me. After Greyback scratched me.” He said. Potter nodded. 

 

“Lupin told me. About the condition. Said that’s the main reason you’re here. The submission.”

 

Draco shrugged, half mesmerized by the stark contrast of Potter’s tan skin against his own. Potter’s hands were strong. Draco licked his lips. 

 

“He’s not wrong.” Draco said, eyes trailing up Potter’s arm, his neck, his jaw. “Forgive me if I don’t want to spend meals with the Order just yet. I was told Severus...joins on occasion. I would feel more comfortable if he were there my first time. To...help me adjust.”

 

Potter followed Draco’s eyes, heat stirring in his abdomen. “He’s been here more often the last few months, according to Sirius. Tilly is seeing Tobias.”

 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. Potter’s grip on his wrist loosened, but he did not let go completely. “Tobias Snape? And Matilda? Isn’t that a bit like oil and water?”

 

Potter’s bright green eyes flashed.  “Seems to be a lot of that happening.” He let go of Draco’s wrist but the blond boy took his in turn, stepping closer to Potter. He felt something strange bubbling in his chest. He suddenly wanted Potter all over him, covering him. The skin under his Mark itched and burned. Terror filled him.

 

“If you keep me safe, you can have me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You don’t have to treat me like glass, Potter. I’ll break regardless. But I’ve heard you’re good with broken things.” His own voice was unfamiliar to him. This feeling was unfamiliar to him. He felt like he was spinning out of control, and his only anchor to reality was the point at which his hand met Potter’s wrist, the green of Potter's eyes the only fixed thing in his universe. 

 

“You’ll be safe. As safe as anyone here.” Potter said, looking down at the Dark Mark again. “We...we need to figure out how to get rid of this. There has to be a way. Snape would know.”

  
Draco nodded. He reluctantly let go of Potter’s wrist. The room spun. 


End file.
